A Bad Spell in Yurt woy-1

by C. Dale Brittain

  The frog’s wide, pale throat pumped with its breathing. It took one hop toward me, then paused to look around again.

  The old wizard’s cat broke the silence with a hiss. Immediately there was a babble of voices. The wizard took the cat firmly in his arms. “Hold on,” I said cheerfully. “I’ll have him turned back into a count in just a minute. I’ve been working on transformations all day, so this shouldn’t give me any trouble. I chose a frog because frogs, who metamorphose naturally during their lifetimes, are very easy subjects for the magic of transformation.”

  No one seemed particularly interested in this insight into wizardry. They had all stepped backwards and were looking at me in trepidation.

  But it did indeed take only a few seconds for me to return him to himself, once I had decided he had been a frog long enough to respect wizards more in the future. But as I said the words to restore him, I also added a few words to create an illusion of pale green color on his alabaster skin. It would fade shortly, but I thought it would be a healthy reminder of the powers of wizardry. If I had done this well in the transformation practical, there never would have been a question about Zahlfast passing me.

  The count, restored, stared at me with eyes that seemed much more appropriate in a human’s face than they had in a frog’s, but he said nothing.

  “Well,” said the king in in his best jolly voice. “I can see the after-dinner entertainment has already begun, but shall we eat before we have any more? I know the cook has been busy today!”

  The brass players had stopped playing to stare down from their greenery-hung balcony, but they quickly resumed as we all went toward the tables. Several extra tables had had to be set up, all glittering with the best silver and crystal.

  As we jostled and found our places, I discovered the chaplain at my elbow. “Are you sure this wanton meddling with God’s creation does not endanger your soul?” he said into my ear.

  I laughed and shook my head. I personally thought the young count’s soul might be improved by a wholesome lesson in humility, but decided not to mention this. I was suddenly very hungry.

  V

  I noticed at dinner that no one talked to me as freely as they normally did, not even the Lady Maria, who was, as usual, seated at my right hand, though one advantage of having guests was that Dominic had been positioned at a different table. Being freed from having to provide entertaining conversation gave me more attention to pay to one of the cook’s finest efforts. By the time the mince pie was brought in, I was so full that I found I could only take two pieces.

  When everyone was down to about half a piece of pie, from which they periodically extracted a raisin or a flaky piece of crust to munch with a sip of tea, the king said, “Well, Wizard! ” to my predecessor. “Are you going to provide us some entertainments like you used to?” I noticed that the servants who had been taking empty dishes down to the kitchen had all returned to the seats at their table.

  The wizard nodded, giving a rather smug smile. “I think I might be able to provide something to while away a few minutes.”

  He rose, leaving the calico cat sitting on his chair with its tail wrapped tidily around its paws. From his pocket the wizard took a dozen gold rings and arranged them carefully in front of the fire.

  I realized what he was doing. Complicated illusions might take up to an hour or more to create, but it was possible to perform most of the spell, stopping short of the end, and then tie that spell to an object, where it would last a day or so. An unfinished spell would start to fade after that time, but if one did one’s illusions fairly soon, one would have the advantage of being able to perform something highly spectacular with only a few words of the Hidden Language. The object to which the unfinished spell was attached could be almost anything, but the wizard’s rings certainly added a nice touch. I never did illusions that way myself, except for once for a class exercise, always being too impatient.

  The old wizard picked up the first ring, held it toward the company, and said a few quick words. Immediately a light green sapling sprang up from the flagstone floor. It grew and grew, reaching branches now covered with pale pink blossoms toward the ceiling. For a second there was even a whiff of rose petals. I determined to ask him to teach me how to do that at the next possible opportunity; they had never taught us how to do illusory scents in the City.

  Now the blossoms were changing, becoming long green leaves, as the tree was gently buffeted by a summer breeze, and for a second the hall was filled not with the smell of evergreen but with the scent of new-mown hay. Then the leaves darkened, became crimson and blood-red, and fell in silent showers, accompanied by a dark, woodsy smell of wood and earth. But the branches were not bare, for now white stars glistened in their branches. As the smell of the Christmas tree again returned, the stars cascaded to the earth, and the whole tree quietly dissolved.

  The company had been watching silently, except for a few murmurs of “Oooh,” or “Ohh,” from the ladies. But now loud applause burst out. I glanced toward the young count and saw that even he was applauding with great assiduousness. I was glad I was not going to try to match illusions with the old wizard.

  He acknowledged the applause with only a bob of the head, but I could tell he was highly gratified. He positioned his next two rings, said the words to finish the spell, and stepped back.

  This time two winged horses appeared, lifesize and alabaster white-whiter than the young count’s skin had ever been, even before I tinted it green. Flapping their enormous, feathered wings, they rose in absolute stillness, hovered over our heads for a moment while striking at each other with their hooves, then, side-by-side, soared the length of the hall and back again, to land lightly by the fire and dissolve in a shower of sparks.

  Then the wizard changed the mood, making his next illusion a clown. It looked at first like a person, wearing baggy multi-colored clothing, its face painted different colors. But then it began to dance, kicking enormous feet high into the air, and as it danced its neck suddenly grew to six feet long and shrank back again, its shoulders sprouted first wings and then rose bushes, and an extra two legs grew from its hips and danced harder than ever. The eyes winked hugely, the wide mouth leered and grinned. The whole party was weak with laughter when the clown did a final bow and disappeared with a pop.

  The old wizard kept us entertained for close to an hour. Some of his illusions were beautiful, some funny, and all finer than anything I had seen produced in the City. For his final one, he started with a small Christmas tree, which grew toward the ceiling and was suddenly transformed into a giant red Father Noel, who smiled and bowed to us all before dissolving away.

  As the thunderous applause died down, the wizard returned to his place, doing a fairly good job of hiding his pleasure. “Any more of that pie left?” he said. “Illusions are hungry work.”

  People stood up then, stretching and talking. There were still nearly two hours until midnight service in the chapel. I wondered if the old wizard might take advantage of the interval to go check the north tower. But he seemed content, after a final piece of pie, to sit down in a rocking chair which the queen brought out for him, and doze by the fire with the cat on his lap and a small smile on his face. He must have risen before dawn, I thought, to start preparing those illusions and have them attached to the rings before he started for the castle.

  The rest of the royal party and the guests stood or sat near the fire, chatting while the servants cleared the tables. The king was talking to the two counts and the duchess with great animation, but I noticed the queen sitting by herself, near the base of the Christmas tree. I took a chair and went to sit next to her.

  She looked up at me with a smile. “I hope you realize we are very happy with you as Royal Wizard,” she said, “even if you don’t do illusions like your predecessor!”

  I personally thought that my dragon and giant had been at least as impressive in their own way, even though they had lacked the visual solidity of the old wizard’s productions, e
specially since I had created them entirely on the spot. But I looked into the emerald eyes and knew that this comment had been meant to be reassuring.

  “I’m very happy being at Yurt, so I’m glad you think that,” I said. We were far enough from the rest of the party, and everybody else was talking loudly enough, that our conversation was highly private. I had drunk quite a bit of wine with dinner. “You know, ” I said, “I’m very much in love with you.”

  This confession was met with a pleased laugh. She clearly did not believe a word of it, but she did take and squeeze my hand. “When you turned the count into a frog,” she said, “he really was a frog, wasn’t he? That wasn’t just an illusion.”

  “No, he really was a frog. If I hadn’t changed him back, or another wizard changed him back, he would have stayed a frog for the rest of his life. Of course, inside, he would still be himself. He just wouldn’t be able to talk or make insulting comments about wizards.”

  She laughed again. “You are a fine wizard, but it’s probably just as well you changed him back.”

  “Could I ask you something, my lady?” I said. I actually wanted to ask if she could ever love me too, but I was fairly sure I already knew the answer to that. “I’m afraid it’s a fairly personal question.”

  “Well, what is it?”

  “I want to know why you decided to marry the king.”

  If it hadn’t been for the wine, I would have been quite shocked at my boldness. She did not seem shocked, however, but looked fondly toward him, as he talked to his subjects in front of the fire.

  “Was it to keep him from marrying the duchess?”

  She turned back toward me, laughing again. “Oh dear, is it that obvious? No, I don’t think he was ever in danger of marrying her, so that wasn’t the reason. I just fell in love with him.”

  I did not reply. This answer seemed quite inadequate.

  But she had drunk quite a bit of wine at dinner as well. “You know I’m my parents’ only child,” she said at last. I nodded, waiting for her to continue. “They were of course eager to see me married. And of course, like parents everywhere, they wanted me to marry well, marry at least a castellan like my father, but preferably a count or duke.”

  I thought I could guess what was coming.

  “They kept on introducing me to young men from throughout the western kingdoms. Maybe my Aunt Maria was the worst. She always tried to make the young men seem romantic, charming, wonderful, to the point that I already despised them before I met them. I actually enjoyed being introduced to lots of young men, because there were all sorts of opportunities for dances, for hunting parties, for buying new clothes, but I couldn’t imagine actually marrying any of them. They were all, frankly, silly, vain, or shallow-or all three.

  “We’d exhausted several kingdoms already before we came to Yurt. The last man they tried was the young count of Yurt.” She nodded in his direction. The green had by now worn off his skin.

  “He wasn’t count yet, as his father was still alive four years ago, when my parents tried to persuade me to marry him. But his personality was already-shall we say-fully developed.” She went into a series of giggles at this point that made several people look in our direction.

  After a moment she regained her composure. “I told my parents I was going to become a nun, that I would enter the Nunnery of Yurt and spend the rest of my live in prayer and pious devotions. They were horrified, of course, and as I look back I’m quite horrified myself at my determination. I almost managed to do it.”

  “I have trouble seeing you as a nun, my lady.”

  “So do I, now. But I told them they had one final chance, to introduce me to a young man I would like before I took my vows of chastity. We were on our way to meet somebody, I don’t even remember who, now, when we stopped at the duchess’s castle-her mother and my mother were second cousins.

  “As it turned out, the royal family of Yurt was visiting the duchess at the same time. I think my father had some idea of making a match between Prince Dominic and me, which would certainly have been more advantageous than whoever, in the next kingdom over, he had originally chosen for his final effort-Dominic is, after all, royal heir to Yurt.

  “But my father reckoned without the king! He fell in love with me, and since nobody at all was trying to persuade me that he was young and gallant and charming, I fell in love with him! He actually is more gallant and charming than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  She looked toward him dreamily, even though he appeared at the moment to be telling an especially hilarious joke to the duchess. I was quite sure she would never call me charming and gallant.

  “That’s a wonderfully charming story,” I said. This seemed to put a final end to the theory that she had put an evil spell on the king, and I was delighted to see the theory go.

  “What are you two laughing about over there?” called the king. “Come here, my dear. The countess says she has some very interesting news you would like to hear, some gossip from the City.”

  The queen gave me a quick smile and sprang up, and in a moment she and the old count’s wife were talking with their heads together. I guessed that the interesting news was about the new winter fashions, since the countess drew out a newspaper folded open to a page of sketches.

  I sat back, my feet stretched in front of me, and did my best, in a spirit of Christmas-time charity, not to suspect Joachim of almost having killed the king. It seemed ironic that the queen and the chaplain, the two people in Yurt whom I liked the most, were the two people to whom my thoughts kept returning whenever I wondered who might have become involved with renegade magic.

  Just before midnight, we all started up the narrow stairs to the chapel. I was worried that the old wizard would take the opportunity of being alone to slip off to the north tower, but to my surprise-and I think almost everyone else’s-he said he would join us at service. “I’ve been wanting to see these lamps you told me about, young whipper-snapper,” he said affectionately.

  For Christmas Eve, even the chapel was decorated with evergreen boughs, and some of the candles on the altar were red and green as well as white. Everyone in the castle was there, crowded together companionably on the benches. The chaplain’s vestments were brand new, brought up from the City on the pack train with all the constable’s orders just a few days ago. He read us the Christmas story, which while we all knew well was always worth hearing again, before proceeding to the service itself.

  The only way I could suspect him was to assume that he had done something truly evil, such as dealing with a demon, but that he had then just as truly repented, because otherwise his prayers would not have healed the king. But if he was truly repentant, he could have nothing to do with the stranger, and his presence could not be related to the sense of evil I still sometimes felt. I was left being forced to think that the stranger was someone totally foreign to the castle, who had come here to practice black magic-perhaps in our cellars-for his own purposes, but this was a very unsatisfactory explanation. The queen had come to Yurt, the king had grown ill, the old chaplain had died, and the present chaplain had arrived, all within a year, and there had to be some connection.

  “Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!” we all told each other as we separated after service. The stars were bright and incredibly distant in a black and icy sky. I watched as the old wizard, his face holding the same determinedly skeptical expression it had had throughout the service, went toward his room. He showed no sign of going to inspect the north tower. “Sweet dreams of presents!” somebody called, and there was a general laugh as the guests retired to their chambers and the castle party to theirs.

  PART SIX–CHRISTMAS

  I

  Christmas morning dawned bright and clear. Since there were so many guests in the castle, rather than having the serving maids bring us our breakfasts individually we all assembled in the great hall. Here the cook had produced another masterpiece. Whole hams, platters of steaming sausages and eggs, donuts, crullers, and giant silv
er teapots were set out on the tables. Everyone was in a jolly Christmas mood; I even saw the chaplain smiling at a joke.

  Once we had eaten, it was time for the presents. Packages wrapped in red and green paper, presents from the king and queen to everyone in the castle, were piled under the Christmas tree. The queen distributed these with smiles and laughter. Most of us received gifts of gold coins, or rings, or clothing. I received a new velvet suit, of midnight blue, which I wished I could try on at once. Even our guests received small presents, and the old wizard had to smile when he pulled out a gold ring shaped like an eagle in flight, holding a tiny diamond in its beak. The calico cat played in the scattered ribbon, chasing and biting it.

  Then the husbands and wives and lovers gave each other gifts, some of them apparently jokes that they wouldn’t let the rest of us see, although they giggled quite a bit. I tried unsuccessfully to spot what was in the box Jon gave Gwen, though it made her smile and blush a most becoming pink before she slammed the lid back on. Most of the ladies received such a present, though not the Lady Maria.

  At this point on Christmas morning, it was usually time for Father Noel to come in with presents for the children, except that we had no children in the royal castle of Yurt. The serving girls and stable boys, even the boys being trained in knighthood, were all old enough that they would have been acutely embarrassed to receive a gift from Father Noel. But I knew someone who would love such a gift.

  I slipped out while the knights and ladies were still teasing each other over their presents. In my room, I hastily put on my old red velvet pullover, stuffed the stomach round with socks, and draped a piece of rabbit fur I had gotten from the constable’s wife around my neck. A little illusion made my eyebrows and beard bushy and white.

  “Ho, ho, ho, boys and girls!” I cried as I reentered the hall. “And have you all been good little boys and girls this year?” They recognized me at once, in spite of the disguise, and everyone except one of the boys, who clearly thought he was about to be embarrassed publicly, laughed heartily.